. . . it's complicated . . .

boneyard

the thing i'm struggling with most is
simply finding a comfortable position in
which to sleep at night when my bones scrape
through the parchment stretched like a canvas
on which an artist daubed all the colours of
his palette with a knife once reserved for
cutting their bread into slices of time that
gathered blue spots of mould reminiscent of
summer skies shot blasted with sea spray
seen from under a curling wave in which
we tumble down green seaweed grass hills to
end our days in a graveyard overlooking the
town in which our mothers have spread their
legs and forced our heads screaming for air
through bloodied soil and our ancestors bones
bleached on the beaches where they walked

I’ve been trying to tap into / explore some deeper emotional themes recently – I wonder how we will look back on our writing during these pandemic days?! It’s taken me a while to find a means of writing that feels relevant – to me at least. Thanks for your thoughts VJ, always appreciated.

Thanks Hannah. I wanted the structure to be somewhat disjointed, like my thoughts, but to flow almost as one rambling thought (trying not to use the words stream of consciousness lol). I’m glad you liked it that way.

Thanks again Hannah. There is a beach on the south coast near to where my Mum lives and at low tide the scattered chalk rocks look like skulls and bones. It’s an image that crops up rather too regularly in my writing although it’s been some years since I’ve seen them.